


Think of Me

by reizend



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, Outpost 3, Young Michael, aged up michael, ahs apocalypse - Freeform, ahs: apocalypse, before the apocalypse, brief mentions of behold chablis and ariel augustus, hawthorne school for exceptional young men, vague mention of some random warlock student i named felix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reizend/pseuds/reizend
Summary: John Henry Moore smokes because he's stressed. Michael Langdon is the obvious cause of his stress.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this, and my own satisfaction, I've aged Michael Langdon up to 18 during his time spent at Hawthorne. This all takes place before the apocalypse itself and before Michael's test of the Seven Wonders. Nothing explicitly inappropriate, but pretty much the start of a FoeYay/Beloved Enemy Michael Langdon/John Henry Moore.

The introduction of Michael Langdon to The Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men had proved to be some combination of exciting and worrisome; though the latter only seemed to apply to one of the four instructors. Hunched over the desk in his room, writing furiously across a piece of paper, John Henry Moore was hardly prepared for the knock that came at his door. Abruptly, he stopped his scrawl and sat up straight, looking over his shoulder with a knit to his brow.

“Come in,” he finally answered, turning the paper over and dropping his pen atop it.

As the door was pushed open, the figure of Michael Langdon stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. John Henry’s immediate response was to stand up from his seat, focusing his glare on the newest, and yet most powerful, student in the school. “Michael,” he muttered the greeting quietly, but firm.

“You said your door was always open,” the younger remarked with a subtle, upward flick of the very corners of his mouth. “I came to take advantage of that.”

“My door is open to help students, Michael, not to be visited without prompting.”

“Of course. And I’m here looking for your help, sir.”

“With what? Behold’s had nothing but praise for your work so far.” John Henry’s stare narrowed as he tensed in his posture.

“May I?” The blonde nodded toward the rest of the room, having yet to cross the threshold.  
  
With a reluctant sigh, the warlock gestured for his visitor to enter. “Yeah, fine. Come in, sit down.” He flicked his wrist to create some space between the two black chairs near the fireplace, but disguised it as an indication for Michael to sit. Though he was willing to allow the young man into his room, he was intent to keep his distance.

Michael stepped into the room and soundlessly closed the door behind him as he entered. At the behest of his host, he delicately sat himself down on one of the chairs and deliberately slid it forward, just enough to show John Henry he was aware of the movement. “I’m struggling with hydrokineses,” he lied. His eyes darted up to John’s and the ever-typical, faux innocence crossed his features. “I was hoping you could help me.”  
  
Incredulous, John Henry lifted a hand and held it up in the vast space between them. “I _seriously_ doubt that.” His brow furrowed again and he turned away from Michael for a short moment to pick up the pack of cigarettes he’d left on his desk. When he turned back to face his guest, the two chairs were mere inches apart. With an irritated stare, his attention drifted from the chairs back to the smile on Michael’s face. “You know I talk to the others, right? Behold and Baldwin have both made it very clear you’re their best student. Not one of the best, _the_ best.”

“Is that right?”

“Why would I lie about that,” the agitation was beginning to make itself clear in his tone. “So, why don’t you stop wasting my time, and yours, and tell me why you’re really here.”

“I _am_ having trouble,” Michael sighed, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “I’m having trouble with the other students. I’m not exactly … _like_ everyone else, as I’m sure you know. I find it much easier to connect with the instructors and – you’re the only one I haven’t been able to speak with.”

“So you came here to, what? To _get to know me_?”

“I would like to, yes.”

“No,” John Henry immediately shut down the possibility and gestured to his door. “I will help you with your work and anything you’re having trouble with in your _education_. I’m not here to be your friend.”

The only expression to cross Michael’s face was hurt. The dejection was so forward and blunt, it was something he’d yet to experience from any other person, especially in the school. “Why?”

“Because,” the first response came sharp and firm, but it took him a long moment to come up with an answer. He hadn’t been prepared for the question. “Because I’m an instructor.”

“If you’re worried about favoritism, I think everyone else has you beat,” Michael tried to propose, offering a soft laugh to the warlock. “I think _I’ve_ seen more of the Grand Chancellor in one day than most of the students here have seen him in a year –”

“That’s not the point, Michael.” The interruption was crass, drawing another hurt expression from the younger.

“Then what _is_ the point?”  
  
John Henry looked over Michael’s expression and promptly drew a cigarette from the box. “I’m a private person. I prefer to keep my _job_ and my _personal life_ separate. That’s all,” he spoke in a quiet tone. Even if he didn’t trust Michael, he had the morality not to intentionally attack him with words.  
  
As if that was an invitation to stay, Michael sat back in his seat and gestured to the empty one nearby. “See, we have that in common.”  
  
The warlock released a heavy sigh and placed the cigarette between his lips. With his lighter, he ignited the end and took a quick inhale off it. “Stop. We’re not bonding.”

“I noticed you talk to everyone,” Michael began, his hands dropping to his lap as he crossed one leg over the other. “But you don’t like to talk to me. And when you do, it’s quick, usually pretty stern, and then you’re gone.”

John Henry’s stare remained on Michael as he exhaled a plume of smoke upward and a scowl quickly came over his features.

“I suppose I’d just like to know what I’ve done to make you feel such a way about me.”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Nothing? Now, that doesn’t sound right,” he sighed again and looked to the empty seat. “Could you sit? It would make all of this feel much more comfortable.”  
  
There was resistance in his step, but as John Henry met Michael’s gaze again, he felt compelled to oblige. He blatantly shifted his chair away from the other once more and leaned back with his cautious expression focusing on Michael. “I’m like that to everyone,” he tried to assure, but Michael leaned forward in his seat and kept his hands tightly clasped in his lap.  
  
“No, you’re not,” he quickly corrected, which drew another glower from John Henry as he smoked. “You talk to Felix at _length_ about any number of things. I’ve seen it and he’s told me about it.”

“I’m his mentor. Obviously I talk to him.”

Michael’s own expression fell from something soft to a more agitated one. “You don’t have to lie to me, John Henry.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not his mentor. You _were_ his mentor. Now he works with Pennypacker. Was that by your choice or his? Are you as insufferable to work with as you are difficult to communicate with?”

The warlock, though he’d just been seated, stood up quickly and gestured toward his door. “That’s enough.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the bottom of why you don’t like me,” Michael protested as his tone pitched higher, sitting back in his seat and arching a brow just slightly. While his voice tried to play vulnerable and confused, his posture radiated his confidence. “I’d like to get that out of the way, if we could.”

“No, we can’t. Get out.”

Michael remained seated and challenged John Henry with an upturn of his chin. His eyes remained on the warlock’s face and steepled his fingers just above his own chest. “I think we both know that won’t work.”

With a silent, long, drag of his cigarette, John Henry stared down at Michael and waited for him to move. When there wasn’t even the slightest budge, he turned on his heel and opened up his wardrobe. From there, he fished out two empty glasses and a bottle of red wine before he turned back to face Michael.

“Are we drinking,” Michael perked up as some look of amusement crossed his features.

“Hydrokinesis is the ability to manipulate liquids,” John Henry began as he placed all three objects on a small end table that he pulled between the two chairs. “There’s multiple ways to do that. Some of us can pull liquid from somewhere else, others create liquids out of the molecules in the air, and there’s a few of us that can do both.” He sat down and separated the two glasses, leaving the bottle of wine in the middle.

Michael watched expectantly, his eyes darted between the glasses and the warlock, who met his stare after a moment.

“First,” he cleared his throat, his cigarette resting between his fore and middle fingers. “In the air around us, there’s the same molecules that make up water. Focus and you can create water in the palm of your hand,” he instructed, his smoke was returned to his mouth for a final drag before he snubbed it out in a nearby ashtray. As he exhaled a plume of smoke upward, he spoke. “Do that.”

Michael opened his mouth, prepared to protest and try to resume the conversation where he’d left it. However, he closed it and smiled sweetly at John Henry. “Sure,” he answered quietly. He slid forward to the edge of his seat and extended his hand above the wine and faced his palm upward. With his eyes closed, he gave a dramatic movement of his fingers and cupped his hand. 

In a matter of moments, one water droplet fell, followed by several more until the small pool grew to fill the cup of his palm. When he felt he’d completed the task, he opened his eyes and arched a brow slightly at the warlock. “Well?”  
  
“Now,” John Henry began again, bringing his fingers to the bottle of wine. “This bottle hasn’t been opened yet. I want you to fill both of these glasses. _Without_ opening it.” He gave it another tap before his hands came back to his lap. “Focus on the liquid in the bottle. Then the empty glasses.”  
  
An exasperated sigh escaped Michael before he pulled his stare from John Henry. He reached forward and touched the top of the bottle, running his thumb gingerly over the sealed cork before he released his hold on it. “Alright,” he finally answered.

Both John Henry and Michael watched the bottle, the warlock more visibly tense. With some finesse, Michael reached forward and simultaneously ran a forefinger over the rim of either of the glasses, followed by a quick flourish of the wrist. The wine in the bottle began to drain quickly while both glasses filled, just below the brim. There was another smile on his face and Michael turned his attention back to the warlock. “There.”

John Henry’s stare hardened and he drew his glower up from the wine. “You don’t have trouble with hydrokinesis,” he finally spoke up as he snatched one glass of wine off the table and stood up once more. “ _Now_ you can leave.”

“What –”

“Goodnight,” he tried to dismiss Michael with another nod toward the door and sipped from the wine.

“You are being _especially_ rude, John Henry Moore,” Michael spoke candidly. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Michael scowled, the curve of his lip seemed to be more of a pout than anything. “ _I_ want to talk to _you._ Shouldn’t that count for something?” He raised from his own seat, moving to pick up the second glass of wine.

“No,” John Henry barked back quickly, giving a flick of his own wrist to empty the glass of wine back into the bottle before Michael could drink from it. “And I’m not serving you alcohol.”

The Antichrist’s expression soured even further as he stared down at the empty glass.  
  
“You have your own room, Michael. You can leave.” The warlock used his telekinetic power to pull his door open, waiting for the other to exit. Instead, the door slammed shut as Michael extended his hand to counter John Henry’s power.

“I don’t _want_ to. I want to stay here.”

“And _I_ want you to leave.”

Even as the warlock spoke, Michael was moving toward him. There was obvious tension, but Michael seemed to ignore it in favor of getting closer to the instructor.

“No,” was the simple and slow answer to come from the blonde’s mouth.

“ _Michael._ ”

“I’ve also noticed you don’t like to be touched.” Contrary to John Henry’s stern tone, Michael’s had dropped to something softer as he accosted the taller. Though John Henry hadn’t threatened to move away, the Antichrist was still prepared to freeze him in place if he dared to try. “Why is that?”

“It’s none of your _concern,_ ” he grunted out in a response, defiantly bringing his shoulders back and narrowing his glare on Michael. “You need to leave.”

“I don’t think that’s what I need,” his voice remained quiet, bordering on something deceptively sultry. In a swift move, he placed the palm of his hand against John Henry’s chest. Almost instantly, the warlock’s hand came up to swat away Michael’s.

“You _need_ to stop.” The subtle step back was enough for Michael to decide to engage his magic. He flicked his fingers and subtly cast an immobilization spell on the lower half of the warlock’s body; far too quick for the warlock to counter it. “ _Michael,_ ” he reiterated with a grit of his teeth.

“ _Talk_ to me and I’ll leave you alone,” the younger offered with a smile – one that dared John Henry to take him up on the proposition.

“Talk to you about _what.”_

“Anything,” Michael stated with a pleasant tone as he lowered his attention down to the man’s slightly askew tie. Deft fingers quickly slipped under the fabric and adjusted it, ignoring John Henry’s low grunts of protest. “Maybe Felix?”

“I’m not talking to you about another student – _stop touching me,_ ” he responded, quickly drinking down the rest of the wine and lowering the empty glass to his side. He moved again to swipe Michael’s hands away.

“Why do you dislike me?” The question came as Michael’s hand was thrust away. Without hesitation, he returned both of his hands to the warlock’s vest, fussing with the fabric and smoothing it out.

“Oh, _I don’t know,_ maybe because you act like _this?_ ” The sarcasm dripped off of every syllable and his hands came down to shove away the fussing ones again. “ _Stop_ touching me.”

“You haven’t liked me from day one. Before you even spoke to me.”

“It doesn’t matter. _Go._ ”

“John Henry Moore,” he exhaled and finally lowered his hands to his own sides. “I overheard something about you.”

“Fantastic. Go tell someone else,” the warlock ushered, finally dispelling the immobilization that had kept him from moving away from Michael. Just as he plucked up a new cigarette and placed his empty glass down. Michael spoke again in that knowing, but soft, tone of his.

“Behold said you haven’t smoked this much in months.”

“I smoke when I’m stressed,” he admitted with a wrinkle of his nose, staring at the cigarette he’d just picked up. “I’m _stressed._ ”

“Is it because of me?” A smile creased Michael’s features again before he straightened himself up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think of me every time?”

“ _What?_ ”

“With every cigarette.”

“Leave,” John Henry finally grunted out in some exasperation. “It’s _very_ late.”

“I know,” Michael lofted his brows, though he didn’t move. “Could I come by again tomorrow, or should I tell Ariel what’s happened here?”

John Henry knit his brow and stood up straighter, confusion spread clearly across his face. “Tell him _what,_ exactly?”  
  
The Antichrist cleared his throat and raised his tone just a little. “An instructor, serving a student wine in his room? The implications there, alone, are _immense._ You know he’s suspicious of you already, right? He thinks you don’t believe in the Alpha. _”_  
  
“Are you threatening me, Michael,” John Henry asked as he lowered the cigarette down, sparing only a brief glance toward the wine bottle.  
  
A subtle smirk tugged at the very corner of Michael’s mouth. "Of course not."  
  
“Bullshit,” he rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “Will you leave, already.” It was far more a statement than a question.  
  
The young man turned on his heel and directed himself to the bedroom door, pulling it open quietly. This time, when he ran a hand through his hair, the blonde curls looked especially messy. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, same time?”  
  
John Henry stared furiously at Michael’s back as the young man stepped out of his room. His jaw clenched, though, when he heard Michael greeting Behold in some feigned innocence before he was gone.


	2. The Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold Chablis and John Henry Moor discuss Michael Langdon. Who heard everything.

Michael Langdon had been stopping by John Henry’s room repeatedly night after night. The warlock was growing tired of it; he’d even ushered Michael out before he was able to enter on a couple of nights. The blonde was infuriating. He’d been constantly demanding John Henry’s attention and trying to wriggle his way into his _personal_ life. John Henry decided he needed to speak with _someone_ before the pesky blonde could drop in unannounced again.  
  
Just before dinner, and just after his sixth cigarette of the day, the instructor cornered Behold Chablis in Hawthorne’s kitchen. Behold had been fixing himself a glass of red wine when John Henry made his presence known.  
  
“You smell like an _ashtray._ So much for quitting. What’s your problem, _this time_ ,” Behold accused before John Henry could even speak. “And if you plan on sneaking up on anyone soon, you should probably shower that rancid stink off, first.”  
  
“ _Michael_ is my problem,” the warlock answered, gladly ignoring the latter half of his colleague’s statement. “He came to my room last night. The last _few_ nights - a _week_ worth of nights.”  
  
“You _are_ an instructor. Students _do_ that sometimes,” Behold quipped back, turning to face the other man with an arch to his brow and a cock to his hip. “Suddenly it’s not allowed? Or is it just because it’s Michael?”  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying.”  
  
“Then what _are_ you saying.”  
  
“He threatened me, Behold.”  
  
“Threatened you – how? With a knife? Did he set you on fire?”  
  
“What – no – I,” John Henry was a little taken aback by the response he’d gotten. Of all the warlocks, he’d expected Behold to have his back more than anyone else.  
  
“John Henry Moore, you have been nothing but an irrational, enraged grump since Michael has gotten here. What do you _hate_ so much about the fact _we,_ ” Behold’s tone was low as he gestured between the two of them. “Can be more powerful than _The Supreme herself?_ What is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
John Henry ran a hand over his face, dragged his palm down and shook his head. “Do you even _hear_ yourself? I just told you _Michael Langdon_ threatened me and this is how you’re taking it?”  
  
“You’re exaggerating.”  
  
“I’m _not exaggerating,_ ” he barked back, his tone increasing in volume as he grit his teeth. “This is exactly why I didn’t go to Baldwin or Ariel – how did you let _them_ get you wrapped up in _their_ fantasy?”  
  
“Come back to me with some sort of _evidence_ that Michael isn’t what he seems to be, okay, John Henry. I don’t have time for your conspiracy theories.” Behold sipped from his wine and tore his gaze off of the other warlock momentarily, wiggling his fingers in a dismissive gesture.  
  
“It’s not a theory – not like this _Alpha bullshit._ You know it’s just a story spun by some dead, insecure misogynist from centuries ago, right. A story. That’s it.”  
  
Behold looked especially offended by the statement and he accosted his taller colleague with a finger aimed for the center of his chest. “Don’t you let Ariel hear you say that,” he whispered out harshly. “He will send your ass out in the cold. Play the game, John Henry. Sit through the _bullshit,_ and when _you_ have a chance to change everything, _do it._ But for now, it’s Ariel’s game, and agreeing with _The Alpha_ is the way it’s played.”  
  
With a glare fixed on Behold, John Henry moved his hand to swat at the other’s finger off his chest. “What the hell is even _going on,_ ” he exhaled. “What? Are we supposed to wait until _something_ happens?”  
  
“I guess you’d better start pretending to like Michael, John Henry. Because he’s not going away any time soon. I’m not going to tell Ariel what you’ve said here, tonight, but you better watch your tongue. You’re already on his shit-list.”  
  
John Henry scowled at his colleague. He recognized, very quickly, that he was wasting his breath, even with Behold. “You’re not serious,” he muttered, narrowing his glare on Behold before he freed the fresh pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Fuck _all_ of this.”  
  
He turned on his heel and left the kitchen in a huff. Behold rolled his eyes and busied himself with glancing over the food to be prepared for the warlock students, far from concerned about the information and accusations tossed around. John Henry, on the other hand, was headed for the elevator; he couldn’t be inside with these people for much longer, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole than he already had.  
  
As he waited for the elevator, he unwrapped the plastic around his cigarette box and flipped the lid open. His gaze was locked on to the sticks, fixated even as he slipped one out and between his lips.  
  
“You may want to bring your coat,” the faux innocent voice of Michael Langdon chimed behind him. John Henry even jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of the young warlock and narrowed a glare on him. The blonde stood with the long black coat in his hand, his own coat already on. “It’s actually _pretty_ cold out there right now. Strange.”  
  
The warlock snatched his coat from Michael and shook his head as he stepped into the elevator. He released a gruff noise of a scoff as he pressed the _up_ button. Before the doors closed, however, Michael stepped inside the elevator and stood next to John Henry with a smile on his face. “Going up to smoke or are you going out somewhere?”  
  
“None of your concern,” John Henry quickly retorted, the cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as he patted away at his pockets, looking for his lighter. Once he retrieved it, he lit the end and took a long drag off of it.  
  
“Of course,” Michael agreed with a slight nod of his head, looking away from John Henry and waiting for the elevator doors to open.  
  
The two were quiet for a moment, at least while the elevator reached its destination, before the doors silently opened up for them to disembark. John Henry stepped out first, taking his fastest path to a grouping of trees. Michael was hot on his heels, following without any hesitation or invitation.  
  
“He’s right, you know,” Michael started as John Henry came to a stop. The warlock leaned on one of the trees and withdrew his phone, pulling up the weather and swiping through a few screens before he decided to humor Michael.  
  
“ _Who_ is right about _what_ ,” he asked, though his gaze remained on his phone.  
  
“Behold. You smell like an ashtray.”  
  
The nonchalance with which the answer was delivered really threw John Henry. At first, he took it calmly and hardly reacted. But then the words registered and his jaw clenched, his teeth sunk into the filter of the cigarette, and his glare lifted from his phone to land on Michael.  
  
“ _What._ ”  
  
“I mean, it’s not surprising. You’ve been smoking in your room all day,” Michael laughed quietly under his breath and tilted his head. “You should have a better ventilation if you’re going to smoke that much. Or at least come up here more than once.”  
  
“Michael,” he cleared his throat, then pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “Where did you hear that.”  
  
“ _John Henry,_ ” Michael responded, quietly and with a smirk on his face. “I know you’re not _that_ stupid.”  
  
“So you were listening to me. What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell Ariel anything!” Michael’s smile was bright as he rolled up on his toes for a moment to try and meet John Henry’s gaze at his height. “But, if you have a problem with me, it would be smarter to take it up with me, rather than any of them. Honestly, Baldwin _does not_ like you.”  
  
John Henry’s glare narrowed on Michael, but he didn’t speak. For the moment, he simply took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled the smoke nasally while his phone was lowered to his side.  
  
“Behold is really your only friend and even _he_ doesn’t believe you,” Michael calmly stated as he rested back on his heels and began a casual pace in front of John Henry. “I think he’s right about playing the game, too. Ariel would probably trust you more if you contributed to this Alpha thing.”  
  
As much as he knew Michael and Behold were right, John Henry was a stubborn mule of a man and more often than not, he stood his ground. “No.”  
  
“If you want, I can put in a good word for you –”  
  
“What do you want, Michael. Just get to the point.”  
  
“Me,” he asked innocently, promptly stopping his pacing and facing John Henry with a subtle pout on his face. “I just want us to be _friends,_ sir.”  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Don’t call me that. And _don’t_ start with this again – this ‘friend’ shit.”  
  
Michael took some offense to John Henry’s response, but this time, it wasn’t as unexpected. “Mm, no,” he hummed, then stepped toward the warlock and delicately curled his fingers around his yet-to-be-worn coat. “You should put this on, that wind is _chilly._ ”  
  
John Henry tugged the coat free of Michael’s grasp and shook it out with one hand. Instead of putting it on, he actually hung it over the nearest tree branch he could reach. He then pulled the cigarette from his mouth and leveled his stare on Michael for a moment longer. “It’s not cold.”  
  
“Your loss, I suppose,” Michael mused quietly. He stepped closer to John Henry and lifted a finger to touch the other’s tie. The warlock’s hand came up to bat Michael’s away and his gaze locked on the blonde’s face.  
  
“Do you believe in it,” John Henry suddenly asked, with hardly any prompting.  
  
It was Michael’s turn to be confused. He paused in all his motions and stared quietly at John Henry for a moment before he responded. “… believe in what?”  
  
“The Alpha. The male _Supreme_.”  
  
A smile cracked on to Michael’s face and the Antichrist lowered his hands to clasp them behind his back. “I don’t see why there wouldn’t be a male warlock just as powerful as the female witch,” he canted his head with a slight shrug. “I think Ariel may be overreacting a little with _me_ , but. I don’t see why not.”  
  
“Right,” John Henry grunted in response and raised his cigarette for another drag.  
  
“What was Hawthorne like when you were learning magic,” Michael asked, equally unprompted, but trying his hand at a new tactic with the warlock.  
  
“Different,” he muttered, then removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled the smoke upward, as opposed to in Michael’s face. He tucked his phone away, after he locked the screen, and shifted his posture to be a little more upright. “The instructors were all old and pissed off about witches being more powerful. _Literal_ children.” He rolled his shoulders and shook his head, then glanced down toward Michael again.  
  
“So, not different at all,” the blonde laughed, giving another faux-innocent expression to the warlock.  
  
A smirk, brief and subtle, crossed John Henry’s face at the response. “I guess not.”  
  
“Well, except for you, of course. You’re not like them,” the compliment came with a slight tilt of the head. Michael’s voice was lower, softer, and nearing sultry in the way his half-lidded stare slowly tracked down John Henry’s tie.  
  
“No, I’m not,” he responded, turning his gaze off of Michael. “I hate being here with Ariel _and_ Baldwin. Ariel on his own is manageable, but the two of them together is –” he exhaled a sigh before he shook his head and stopped talking. He didn’t like how quickly Michael had gotten him to open up about all this and he promptly shut himself down.  
  
“I understand,” the Antichrist spoke, moving his hands forward to gently adjust the purple paisley tie. “It’s a shame I can’t convince you to be my personal mentor.”  
  
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, John Henry lifted his free hand to brush Michael’s hands away and settled a tepid glare on the blonde. “You can’t and you won’t.”  
  
“Do you like talking to me?”  
  
“What –”  
  
“I just want to know. You seemed pretty comfortable a moment ago.”  
  
“ _Michael,”_ John Henry groaned with a shake of his head. “Stop asking me that.”  
  
Michael’s hands then came up to gently tug the very ends of John Henry’s vest down and straighten _that_ out. “I like talking to you, even if _I_ do all the talking most of the time,” he started again, quiet in his tone and slowly tugging his gaze up the warlock’s torso. He fussed with the lapel of the vest, then moved his fingers to gently adjust the collar of John Henry’s shirt. His palms gently brushed down the front of the warlock’s clothing, freeing him of some pesky cigarette ash here and there.  
  
In this odd, unearned, sense of security with Michael, John Henry allowed him to fuss with his clothes for a few moments longer than he normally would. Ultimately, he lifted his hands to try and brush off the Antichrist’s, going so far as to grab his wrists and force him away. “Will you stop it,” it was more a command than a request.  
  
Michael was undeterred, however, and only gave John Henry a moment’s respite from his touching. Though there was nothing left to straighten out, Michael coasted his hands up the man’s chest, touching along the hem of his vest after fiddling with the highest button. He could sense John Henry’s unease, but he pushed forward, determined to tear down the barrier. “I’m actually fairly fond of you,” he quietly admitted, touching at his shoulders. The tips of his fingers gently touched at the man’s collar again, gradually tracing along the fabric as he maneuvered the digits to his nape. “You’re easy to talk to.”  
  
The warlock’s gaze quickly narrowed on Michael and the scowl cemented on his expression. It was like _that_ was the trigger phrase to pull him out of his lulled sense of security. “Now _that_ I know is bullshit. Do you ever stop lying?”  
  
Michael pouted – genuinely _pouted_ – at the warlock’s response. “I’m not lying.”  
  
“I’m _not_ easy to talk to. At all. You even said so the other night. So _stop_ trying to flatter me. It won’t work.” John Henry then took a step back, away from the tree he’d been leaning on, and narrowed his stare on Michael. “And for the love of fuck – _stop_ touching me.”  
  
Michael didn’t give up. Persistence was something he was especially good at. John Henry may have been stubborn, but Michael’s own tenacity was a strong contender.  
  
“No,” the Antichrist answered, slowly and with a glare of his own. “I will not stop.”  
  
John Henry took another long drag off his cigarette before he snubbed the end of it out on the bottom of his shoe, then flicked the butt away. As he was straightening up and regaining his composure, Michael had quickly swept in to invade his space, as close as physically possible. He flexed his fingers to immobilize John Henry with a quick burst of magic, then slipped his other under the tie again. He curled his fingers around it and tugged downward, forcing John Henry to bend down to his level.  
  
Blue eyed glares met for a single moment before Michael leaned forward to press a kiss to John Henry.  
  
Consumed by utter shock and disbelief, the warlock didn’t move for an extended second while their mouths were connected. Then, when he did try to move, he found himself stuck and incapable of shoving Michael away, thus allowing the kiss to hold for _another_ second. His only source of retaliation was clear. He opened his mouth, tantalizingly slow and as if to invite a certain depth to their connection. With a vicious intent, he promptly sunk his teeth into Michael’s lip, looking to draw blood and get Michael to _stop._ __  
__  
Instantly, Michael released John Henry from his hold and his magic-induced paralysis. He stepped back a few paces with a look of _complete_ offense on his face as his hands came up to cover his lip. Shocked in his own right, he sucked in a quick gasp of air and focused his furious glare on John Henry.  
  
“What the _fuck_ ,” he shouted behind his hands, pressing one against his bleeding lip. “ _John Henry!”_  
  
The warlock, equally incensed and surprised by the entire encounter, brought his own hand up to his mouth, wiping away anything that may have been left by Michael. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”  
  
“I _kissed_ you, you _bit_ me!”  
  
“Why the fuck did you _kiss_ me in the first place!”  
  
Michael scrunched up his features and quickly turned on his heel. There were some warm tears building up behind his eyes, but he would be damned if he let the warlock see anything beyond outright fury. It would have been so much _easier_ just to kill the warlock now, and he was certainly tempted. He knew Behold was right, though. For the moment, he had to play the game and appease the warlocks - killing one of them _right now_ would be a mistake.  
  
“Where are you going,” John Henry demanded, following after Michael once he snatched his coat off the tree.  
  
“Away from you. That’s what you’ve _wanted,_ right? So, I’m _going,_ ” Michael barked back as he made a direct path for the elevator and John Henry stalled just outside the garden structure.  
  
“What the fuck,” he hissed under his breath as he sought his cell phone once again. He quickly selected a number to call and lifted it to his ear, then dug into his pockets in search of his car keys. When there was no answer on the other side of the phone – Behold pointedly ignoring his call – the warlock decided to make his way to his car. He needed to get away, himself, and if this was what got Ariel to push him out of the council, so be it.


End file.
